Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Synopsis:
“Can you be happy when what you desire most means your doom?”

Evelyn Lakewood, an orphan, is crushed after the death of her beloved sister Zara. But the nineteen-year old enrolls in Psychology at Oxford in honor of Zara.

There, Evelyn first becomes friends with vivacious Sally and seemingly charming Felix. But the encounter with Jared Calmburry, whose incredibly blue eyes immediately captivate her, fundamentally changes her life. She is instantly drawn to this mysterious stranger around whom unusual things happen and who simply disappears every time Evelyn tries to confront him about his puzzling behavior. After finding a mysterious book with a unique symbol on its leather cover in the university library, her curiosity is perked. She doesn’t know what to make of it but Jared’s best friend Colin Sullivan encourages her with cryptic hints to continue her search for evidence. When she discovers the same medieval symbol is worn by hostile professor Karen Mayflower and engraved on another faculty member’s seal ring, she realizes that an ancient secret surrounds Jared.

An endless stream of mourners followed the brown wooden coffin borne by six men in dark uniforms to the top of the hill. I trudged along through thick fall leaves behind the coffin. It was unseasonably cold for late October, and my frozen hands fiercely clutched the white lilacs she loved so much. It hadn’t been easy to get the lilacs at this time of year, but it was a small comfort for me to be able to offer her favorite flowers to her one last time.

I continued on, despite not feeling my legs beneath me as they carried me forward. When the six men abruptly halted, I stumbled. A deep, black hole gaped at my feet. As I looked down into it, I began to shake, not because of the biting cold but because of the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed me. I no longer felt my body, and almost had the sensation of floating over myself, watching from above as they lowered the coffin into the black earth. Despair gripped me, took possession of every fiber of my being, and forced me back into my tormented body. A searing pain shot through my chest, making me cough. A bloodcurdling cry rang out in the distance and made every one of my hairs stand on end.

That’s her voice!

Where is she? I must go to her!

Turning, I looked for help but realized from the looks on the pitying faces of those in attendance that I was the one who had screamed.

A terrible, dull emptiness engulfed me and would not release me.

I bowed down with my last ounce of strength and placed the white lilacs on the coffin in which my sister would sleep forever.

*

Almost three months later. I opened my eyes and read the inscription on the rounded tombstone:

ZARA LAKEWOOD

BELOVED SISTER

WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING

I wiped the tears and snowflakes from my face and concentrated on why I had returned here. I had not come back since the funeral—I probably wouldn’t have survived if I’d come any sooner. But now the weight in the inside pocket of my black coat reminded me I wanted to tell my sister that something had happened. I pulled the heavy letter out and looked it over. It was addressed to Evelyn Francis Kathrin Lakewood.

Careful not to trample the flowers still decorating the grave under a thin crust of ice, I placed the envelope on the stone and took a step back.

“I was accepted by Oxford—what do you say to that?”

After completing my A levels, we had started searching for a good university for me, and, at Zara’s urging, I had applied for psychology at Christ Church in Oxford—though I did not give myself much of a chance and I had no idea how I’d pay for it. As it happened, I’d just been offered admission to the Hilary term in January because some fool had dropped out after the first trimester, and my name was apparently at the top of the waiting list. I wanted Zara to be proud of me. I owed everything to her . . .

When our parents died in a car accident when I was little, Zara fought like a lioness to gain custody of me—and she won.

She saw to it that we stayed together and I wouldn’t have to go to a foster family. Since our parents left us almost nothing, Zara got a job in addition to her training duties. It was my responsibility to focus on school and do the chores. She usually came home after midnight from her shift at the restaurant, leaving again for her classroom at the police academy a few hours later. Zara had barely turned eighteen, only to be burdened with a household and a seven-year-old schoolgirl. She had looked after me for the past twelve years as if I were her own child, not just her little sister. She had seen to it that the bills were paid, there was food on the table, and I always had clean clothes. She never let it show when we were broke again, and whenever I needed money for a school trip or something she only said, “I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” Somehow she always found a way.

When I cried at night, she took me in her arms and comforted me until I fell asleep again. She was my mother, father, friend, and sister all in one, depending on what I needed at the time.

She was the best person I’d ever known. I still loved her above all else. I missed her so much it almost killed me.

AUTHOR BIO:

Sarah Kleck, born in 1984, studied Education, Psychology and Sociology at the University of Augsburg.
Currently, she’s working as a human resources officer and lives with her husband and a newborn in Germany near Lake Constance.
“The Concealed” is her first novel

Monday, October 19, 2015

Welcome to my tour stop for American Ghoul by Walt Morton! This is a mature young adult paranormal dark fantasy novel.
The tour runs October 19-30th with reviews, interviews, guest posts and excerpts. Check out the tour page for the full schedule.

About the Book:

Seventeen-year-old Howard Pickman has some unusual problems: He comes from a family of ghouls with a long history of digging up corpses, and he’s just moved to a new school filled with kids that are scarier than he is. American Ghoul is the story of an exceptionally odd teenager trying to survive the most terrible time anybody has to go through -- senior year at high school.

"A gloriously macabre young-adult tale about the difficulties of being a teenage ghoul in the 1970s. Once readers dig up this clever supernatural story, they likely won't want to put it down." - KIRKUS REVIEWS"Anyone wanting a refreshing story with a young voice full of humor and teenage angst, yet with all the Gothic trappings that have kept the genre popular for over two centuries, give American Ghoul a try! - SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER"I admire Morton's story-telling ability, his macabre descriptions and his dark treatment of the high school experience from a teenager with a terrible secret. There were moments that chilled me to the bone, but kept me turning the pages to follow Howard's journey from outsider to anti-hero." - JACKSONVILLE NAVIGATOR

The bus came right down Main Street into the heart of Pinebury and the driver let me off in front of the Pep Boys Auto Parts store. I got my bearings and found Hopkins Street. It was an unremarkable side street. The houses were two-story wood-frame homes, small and boxy. The founding of Pinebury was back in 1775 but all these houses were built during the 1930s in a colonial style common all over New Jersey.

One thing New Jersey had was plenty of pine trees. The result was wood home construction everywhere. The good thing about pine is it’s easy to build with. The bad thing about pine is it’s a soft wood, and over time, many of the homes sagged as the pine aged. The sagging wasn't enough to bring the houses down, but it created a sad feeling. Like the homes were wooly mammoths being sucked down into a bog.

The last house on the left was Granny’s. It was a run-down colonial with dove-grey paint and dark blue trim peeling in uneven whorls. The grass in the yard was ragged and brown.

I hesitated there for a moment, but I had no place else to go. I knocked.

When Granny answered the door I stifled a gasp.

She looked terrible.

Though in her mid-sixties, she looked ancient. Only five years earlier I remembered a stocky woman with powerful arms and a head of greying brown hair. She’d been a strong hospital nurse who could lift a patient from a bed without complaint.

Now her hair was bone-white and the flesh hung on her bones in that floppy-baggy way elderly women get. Her eyes hadn’t changed though. One eye was coal-black and the other a pale green. Far more dramatic than most ghouls.

About the Author:

Walt Morton is a writer, photographer, and artist. AMERICAN GHOUL, his debut novel, has been called “The Tom Sawyer of horror fiction.”
With this book he is continuing a decade-long exploration into weird tales via photography, film, painting and writing. Walt has lectured at the British Film Institute and studied intensively in five martial arts.

A complete biography of his exploits and interests would be so shocking, improbable and incredible that modesty demands "the less said the better." He would like to thank Jane Austen, who coined that "less said the better" idea. AMERICAN GHOUL is his first of several books that reinvent the supernatural horror genre. Born and raised in rural Pennsylvania, he now lives in California.

His upcoming novels in 2015 and 2016 will include works in horror, science-fiction, and detective genres.

Friday, October 9, 2015

End of Day by Summer Lane(The Zero Trilogy #3)Publication date: October 9th 2015Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult

Synopsis:

The end has come.

Elle Costas and her dog, Bravo, have survived the dangers of Hollywood and escaped the clutches of Slaver Territory. The apocalypse has been cruel, and the wasteland of California has forced them to seek shelter in a civilian refugee camp at a place called Bear Mountain.

Here, they meet Cheng, a mysterious boy with the skills of a samurai, and Luli, a steampunk warrior with a thirst for vengeance. But friends cannot always be trusted. When a horrific tragedy befalls Bear Mountain, Elle and Bravo come face to face with their most dangerous enemy yet.

Betrayal and heartbreak threaten to destroy the bonds of friendship. Desperate times call for desperate measures.Run, or be caught.Kill, or be killed.Fight, or be forced to surrender.

The end of the day will change everything.Will Elle and Bravo survive?

The explosive, thrilling conclusion to the #1 Bestselling Zero Trilogy by Summer Lane.

This is the first time I have ended a published series.
Currently I’m writing the seventh installment of The Collapse Series – and I
don’t even want to imagine how sad I’ll be when I reach the end of that story.

With the Zero Trilogy, I’ve been on this journey of
completing Elle’s story for about two years. It would be difficult to pinpoint the exact
moment that Elle’s character jumped into my mind, because I’ve always wanted to
write a story about a very young but very strong female character in the apocalypse.
The Zero Trilogy seemed to almost write itself at times. Elle’s character
development was an organic thing, something that I was able to cultivate like a
rose. Poetic, I know. But true.

To finally end a story is a brand new sensation to me. I have
ended stories before – but those stories are all unpublished, private works
from the mind of a private girl in the wee hours of the night. To finish a
story that I have shared with endless readers is almost frightening – I don’t
want to say goodbye to Elle! Thankfully, her story intertwines nicely with The
Collapse Series, so this isn’t my final farewell. Not yet.

It was supremely refreshing to be able to tie the loose ends
of her story together, and to explain the unexplained. I love and adore the new
characters of End of Day. Cheng is my favorite male lead of the moment. He’s
devilishly handsome and mischievous, the perfect companion for a girl as quick
and dangerous as Elle.

In the end, I am thankful for every new opportunity I’ve had
because of this trilogy, and I am eternally grateful for the support from the
reading and blogging community, who really gave me my start as a writer, and
made Elle Costas and Bravo the bomb dog a phenomenal fictional force to be
reckoned with.

AUTHOR BIO:

Summer Lane is the #1 Bestselling author of The Collapse Series and the compelling tie-in novella books of The Zero Trilogy, as well as the upcoming Bravo Saga (releasing March 2016). She is also the author of Collapse: The Illustrated Guide, a #1 Bestselling graphic companion to her phenomenal original series.

She is the owner of WB Publishing and Writing Belle, an online magazine. Summer is also an accomplished journalist and creative writing teacher.

Summer lives in the Central Valley of California, where she spends her days writing, teaching, and writing some more. When she is not writing, she enjoys leisurely visits with friends at coffee shops, movie dates, reading and spending the day at the beach or mountains.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

A young man ventures to his lost love’s childhood home in the abandoned city of Pripyat, Ukraine. When a sudden accident puts him off-course, he awakes to discover a lively and vibrant culture living in a nearby village and a woman who reignites his heart. But something sinister lurks in the shadows, and he must face the terror and help defend the village from evil before it is lost forever. Go beyond the tragedy of Chernobyl and discover the magic in the City of Roses.

The greatest feeling that I’ve experienced so far is inspiring people to educate themselves further on a topic I’ve addressed. One of the things I strive for, especially in some of my recent stories, is to write with an attachment to a real person/place/thing. In City of Roses, that thing is the culture that existed in Pripyat, Ukraine before the Chernobyl disaster. The book highlights several creatures taken from Ukrainian folklore/mythology that were a lot of fun to include. Even the title, City of Roses, is a reference to the Chernobyl director’s love for roses, so much that they were planted all over Pripyat. There’s a lot of real history and references to the nuclear fallout mentioned in the book. Even though the story is not contingent on the reader knowing the historical details that occurred, the knowledge of the event or even just an affinity for the culture, the people, and the location will enhance the overall appeal.

I recently reconnected with some old friends from high school, and I was blown away when they told me that my book motivated them to research Chernobyl and Pripyat. They wanted to learn more, to attach themselves to the real events that were described in the book. I really don’t think I could have been happier to hear that. I made learning happen!

I hope when people read about the Chernobyl disaster in my book and see these odd, whimsical folklore creatures, they Google them. Google everything. Go beyond the book. Find the real stories that inspired me to write this one. Learn about the awesome mythology of another culture. City of Roses is a gateway to real events and real cultural icons. In many ways, the history is tragic, but I try to focus on the more uplifting possibilities of life, love, folklore, and the afterlife to get us all through it without crying (too much). And when I have a reader come and tell me that I inspired them to learn more, to read more, I’ve accomplished everything I ever wanted as a writer.

AUTHOR BIO:

Donovan Pruitt has a passion for science fiction and fantasy, especially those titles that trend toward young and new adult storytelling. City of Roses was his first standalone book as an indie author, though he has also written for video games and was previously published as a co-author in the fantasy genre. You can visit him online at www.KalaEmpire.com or join the discussion on Twitter @KalaEmpire.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Arena has left the nation’s administration with a dead president and a weakened military, and while the tragic memories continue to scar her, the government struggles to regroup without its leader. For the people who still remain in hiding, it’s evident the country is all but lost, and with Russian operatives taking over, the nation’s hope of recovering is grim.

After months in hiding, Arena and her brother, Gabriel, fight to survive the aftermath while they trudge through unkindly terrain across the country to rejoin their friends, but what they soon discover may staunch their journey. The government’s failed attempt to rebirth a broken nation has caused civil unrest like no other.

After reuniting with their friends, Arena’s decision to stay changes when she discovers the secrets of a refugee camp behind a clandestine group of rebels, known as the Southern Resistance. With an opportunity to escape to a permanent safe haven, Arena risks her life to lead the new fellowship. But the darkest days are upon them, and with a new war brewing, Arena’s path will take a dark turn as her survival is in jeopardy.

Into The Darkness captures the cruel truth behind our darkest secrets which may often cause us to question our faith. In this graphic second installment of the LAST LIGHT FALLING series, J.E. Plemons continues the grim story of Arena Power’s fate, testing her faith while she and her brother search for an answer to their survival in a brooding world filled with chaos.

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

In the midst of tragic suffering, we all have fallen by death in one way or another, but because of His suffering, we are given hope and a gift of eternal life. I’m still hopeful for those who still remain in this wicked world, regardless of the unleashed hell that awaits us all.

The light draws dim, and Gabe and I are forced to set camp as the sun sets behind the horizon. We find a small spot beyond a brushy field where a clump of trees stands out in the middle of nowhere. The trees are packed fairly tightly, but there is very little underbrush where we can start a fire without burning everything in sight.

“How many more days you think?” Gabe asks as he clears the ground. I brush the sweat from my eyes and gaze wearily to the east. I’m afraid Carrington won’t be the same as we left it.

“Hard to say,” I simply answer. Fact is I haven’t the slightest clue. Nothing from this landscape looks familiar to home. I lay my pack on the cool soil and rest my swords peacefully against a gnarled tree trunk.

“You hungry?” I ask.

“Is the Pope Catholic?” he caustically answers. The sun quickly sets well behind the trees, leaving the horizon to glow.

“Why don’t you get a fire started and I’ll fetch us some-thing to eat.”

While Gabe dresses the ground with kindling, I venture west, anxious to hunt. Night hunting is not my forte. With-out ample light, there’s no telling what’s lurking in the high grass that surrounds us. Although the land here offers abundant species of game birds, I fear the coyotes and bobcats

will scare them away. I kneel down in the brush and wait for something appetizing to cross my path.

It’s been long since Gabe and I have had a decent meal we haven’t had to kill ourselves—not since before all this shit happened. Myra, our foster mom, was the chef of the household. Her roasted duck, a staple on special occasions, would have your taste buds hypnotized for days. And not many people know how to cook duck properly, but she sure did. Though she is dead along with my real mom, not a day goes by without some memory of her.

It’s been twenty minutes now and not a single creature has stirred. I’ve impatiently waited too long to stay here. I trek further out toward a small thicket of live oak trees about a half-mile to the west.

About halfway to the coppice a small hare hops past my boots. I lunge to grab it, but catch a handful of dirt instead. I can’t see a damn thing out here in this nest of weeds. My only hope is to nab something in that cluster of trees up ahead. I wade through the thick brush until the sound of heavy breathing halts my pace. I rest still and for a moment the labored wheezing stops. The sounds in the dark can be misleading, but this certainly doesn’t sound friendly. The tall grass suddenly rustles, but I can’t tell in what direction it’s coming from. Whatever it is, it seems to be scurrying frantically all around. I know it’s not a coyote, because he wouldn’t be moving this much; he would cowardly wait until I made the first move. A small tree limb snaps on the ground to my left about fifteen paces. I quickly bend down and hide within the scratchy underwood. I slowly draw one of my weathered arrows and carefully place it in the string of my bow, waiting for this animal to show itself. The rustling stops and the deep croaking sound of a bullfrog echoes in the distance. That is a pleasing sound, because I know there must be water nearby and I desperately could use a drink. No frog in its right mind would hop around in this barren land without water.

It’s been too long for whatever is hiding out there not to move. Just then, my stomach decides to harmonize with that old bullfrog, growling with starvation. I’m so hungry right now, I’d eat a hot dog from a gas station, but I’m not leaving this spot until I find out what’s hiding out there.

I slowly stand up and walk toward where the raspy panting first started. The rustling in the grass continues when two pheasants fly out in front of me, trying to flee. I must have stepped near their guarded nest. A devilish squeal pierces the air, and two glowing eyes stare at me. In an instant, the tall grass begins to move toward me like a wave in the ocean. I raise my bow and pull the string back, but the arrow nock splits and falls from my hands. I quickly turn and run, hoping I won’t be mauled by what-ever is chasing me. The grass gets thicker and thicker, slowing me down, and that monstrous squeal pierces my ears.

I dart through the weeds as they slash against my thighs like stinging whips. The persisting beast moans with a hellish roar, closing in on my pace, until I finally exit the brushy pasture into a small clearing. There’s not a safe enough distance between this creature and me to look back. It’s fast whatever it is.

I alter my course toward an old oak tree in hopes I will climb far enough up its gnarled limbs for safe harbor. My sides ache from the exhausted running, and the muscle in my lower left calf gives in as I stumble hard to the ground beneath the old tree.

I quickly roll over, pull my dagger from its sheath, and unexpectedly recognize the beast’s twisted tusks driving rapidly toward me. The moonlight shines through the clouded skies and reveals an infuriated feral hog ready to tear into my flesh with vengeance. If I falter, or lose my grip on my knife, I will be at the mercy of its sharp, bristling tusks. The savage pig bows back its hairy ears and leaps, its jowls open wide exposing its razor-sharp teeth. I swing my arm forward and thrust the end of my blade into the back-side of his thick, hairy-coated neck. The hog violently flops about, squealing, not going down without a fight. I stab him again and again until the shrieking finally stops.

I lie there on the ground panting, the two-hundred-pound dead, bloody boar resting on my legs. I’m too tired to move, but the stench emitting from this fowl beast persuades me to do otherwise. Not what I was expecting to find for food, but it’s all we have, and unless a nice pheasant or squirrel decides to pleasantly drop in my lap surrendering to be eaten, it’s pork for dinner.

I push the hairy hog off my legs and pull out my knife. Before I slice into its belly, a small wooden cross near the tree catches my eye. It leans to the side, sitting atop a pile of rocks. It reminds me too much of my uncle Finnegan’s burial that I can’t seem to peel my eyes from it.

Six months have passed since Gabe and I left Finnegan’s grave, and yet I still haven’t forgiven myself for his careless death. If he hadn’t shielded me from the soldier’s bullet at the training facility, I would be the one lying in that grave right now. But my raging hatred for General Iakov caused more pain and misery to our fellowship, and it got Finnegan killed. Though Iakov has fallen with his sol-diers in the facility, leaving a heavy stain on this new administration, it has broken a part of me I can’t get back.

I feel less convinced of the path God has led me on with every step I take in this dark depraved place. If it is my des-tiny to help wipe evil from this world, it’s tearing me apart, because I can feel the fragility in my faith growing now. While I wish I could go back and change things, my fate has brought me here. . . hunting in the dark for survival.

I quickly cut into the hog before the meat spoils and the blood taints our meal. There is just too much to carry back to camp, so I cut and skin what I can for the night and leave the stinky carcass for the vultures. The smell is just too repulsive to continue butchering this nasty beast, anyway. It’s beyond the depths of foul. I tie up what meat I can carry with me and wander toward the small coppice where that bullfrog was bellowing. I’m sure to find water somewhere nearby.

The exposed roots twisting along the ground like a snake suggest an underground spring feeding these lonely trees. There stands a soaring cypress tree hovering over the bank of a small running creek that effortlessly meanders with twists and turns. I follow the brook until I reach the end where it pours into a clear spring. My weary eyes widen, and my dry, parched mouth salivates over this aquatic nectar.

I dunk the canteens into the cold spring water in a less-stagnate area away from the growing moss and algae. I’m so thirsty, I couldn’t care less what’s floating in this sweet, quenching pool of goodness. As long as I don’t have to see what I’m drinking, I’m just fine. Bottoms up, I say.

The unbearable frigid temperatures of winter have finally subdued and surrendered to the fresh blooming beginnings of spring, just like this water. Unfortunately, summer has found a way to creep in, because these long hot days have been murderous. It’s nearing May, I think, but I can’t be for sure. I lost track of time long ago.

For six long miserable months, our weary legs have ambled through snowy drifts of white expanding as far as the eye can see. We have traveled through lifeless towns, abandoned farms, and fields of emptiness, but traveling by foot is our only way now. The roads are no longer safe. Our nation has changed into an ever-growing evil, and those who see it for what it really is have become a liability under harsh scrutiny.

The hundreds of miles we’ve traveled from the East Coast have worn us thin, but I feel our journey to reunite with our friends is not too far away. Texas is the only thing on my mind, and I won’t be discouraged by another day of swollen feet. We haven’t come this far just to give up.

There’s a glowing ember in the distance and I realize just how far away I am from Gabe’s warm fire. The air is starting to get a little chilly and I shiver. I make my way back to camp and find Gabe asleep on the ground in a fetal position. The egregious smell of pork smoking above the fire should wake his stomach up. Gabe has already built a spit-fire high enough above the flames to cook our meal. He’s a Boy Scout after my own heart.

I’m too hungry to wait for this meat slab to hang over the fire the next eight hours. I slice off small manageable pieces to cook, skewer them on a couple of sticks, and lay them on a rock next to the fire. I wrap the rest of meat around the long piece of hickory Gabe had used for a walking stick, and secure it with some left over wire from my pack. I carefully rest the meat above the fire to slow-cook overnight. Hell, maybe the stench will evaporate from the pores, leaving us with some nice tenderloin for breakfast.

I sit next to the crackling fire and dangle the small pieces on the wooden skewers right above the flames. The rendering fat drips from the pork causing the fire to flare up. The sizzling of the fat and crackling of the tissue begins to rouse Gabe, but I don’t think it’s the sound that has awakened him.

“Holy mother of God, what’s that smell, Arena?” Gabe says with his nosed pinched. It’s quite an uninviting smell, but I’ve been smelling and breathing it in for a while, so I guess I have gotten used to it.

“It’s our dinner,” I say.

“You’re kidding me. What are you feeding me, the inside of a pig’s ass?”

Not quite, but damn near close, I think, trying hard not to smile. Okay, I admit the smell is objectionable, but this is all I have to offer.

“Unless you have anything better to proposition, this is our meal. I suggest you take it and fill that empty stomach of yours.”

This salty meat may taste gamey, but when you are as hungry as we are, you’ll eat just about anything, and my stomach can’t wait until the morning to find something bet-ter. Sure I would like to have a nice juicy steak and baked potato, but this will just have to do. We both hold our noses from breathing in the smell of this wretched swine. I stomach what I can and try to dilute the taste with the fresh spring water.

Gabe eagerly falls back to sleep. I try to stay awake as long as I can to keep watch for any unwanted wild creature that may wander uninvited to our malodorous campsite. I’m pretty sure we have unintentionally attracted every wild beast for miles with the smoky scent of ass.

I watch Gabe sleep comfortably below the canvased trees while my stomach churns. The world seems so lonely. Gabe is all I have left right now, and I don’t think I could bear the thought of losing him too. There were times in my life when I detested my twin brother, but I never stopped loving him, and right now, I need him more than ever.

The harsh conditions we’ve experience in the last six months has forced us to both grow up, but none more than Gabe. He’s become a man before my eyes. His dirty blond hair drapes dingily below his ears and eyes. He’s still the same brother at heart, but he’s grown into something much different. Behind those skinny limbs and that frail body he used to carry, breathes courage now. We can never go back to what we were—time and history have changed, and so have we.

I want to believe there is purpose in all of this, but I’m not sure anymore what I’m supposed to do. I feel lost with-out Finnegan by my side. He was the only family Gabe and I had left, and now he too is gone. But his bravery will never be forgotten, and because it was his choice to follow my divine path, we’ve weakened a dying nation at its heart. My enemy may be dead, but my nightmares are still much alive.

I realize there is a reason for every event that happens to us, but I’m still having a difficult time accepting it. I may never fully understand my part in this world, but I will continue until I can no more. Many people left on this earth will accept their fate as meaningless acts of randomness. I believe now there is more to this world than just chaos and ruin. We were born with a plan, a purpose, and a choice. I choose to believe Finnegan saved my life to extend my fate, and I’m eternally grateful, but I wish not to endure any more hum-bling experiences through death.

Instead of sleeping on the padded dirt next to the fire, I nestle in between the roots of an old oak tree. I prop myself up against rough ridges of splitting bark and stretch out my legs. I grab Jacob’s necklace around my neck and stare down at the worn silver cross like I do every night. I rub the edges with my fingers as if it were a nervous tick. I’m afraid I will never let go. The only boy I truly loved is gone, but his death will remain very alive in my nightmares. I fight to stay awake, but my body isn’t willing to compromise. Sleep wins the battle.

About the Author

Jay Plemons’ life is nothing short of ordinary. From an aspiring chef, carpenter, educator, musician, husband, and father, nothing ever seems too busy when adding yet another hat into the mix as a fiction novelist. With a degree in music business, and a minor in English from Middle Tennessee State University, the aspirations to continue his journey in the arts, has followed Jay to write the Last Light Falling series, which has not only touched on some of his personal experiences, but has also helped him further explore the heightened convictions of faith.

Fennel and Peree are finally where they’ve worked ceaselessly to be: together and safe from the Scourge in the protected village of Koolkuna. But on the day of their partnering ceremony the children of the village are stolen away—Fenn’s loyal companion, Kora, among them.

Fenn wants to bring the children home, especially as the villagers seem to blame Peree and her for the tragedy. Only since the death of her own family, she’s terrified that a wrong move on her part will lead to the loss of others she loves.

Despite her apprehension, Fenn and Peree join a small search party led by rival Kaiya, the one person who stands a chance of finding the children thanks to her mysterious past. As they travel away from the safe waters of Koolkuna and into the Scourge-infested wilds, Fenn endures Kai’s scorn, her subtle designs on Peree, and the squabbling of the group. But nothing in her life so far has prepared her for the fierce warrior women who will steal others’ children to preserve their own existence—the Fire Sisters.

If Fenn is to survive the threat of the Scourge, rescue the children from the Sisters, and have a hope of making a life with Peree in Koolkuna, she must face her fear of failure and loss and become the leader she’s destined to be.

Read THE FIRE SISTERS, the thrilling conclusion to the bestselling young adult fantasy Brilliant Darkness series! There are three novels and two short stories in the series. The first novel, The Scourge, was a finalist for the 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Award.

1. Why don’t we start off with you telling us a little about yourself.

Thanks for having me! I SO appreciate bloggers for the good work you do to help authors get the word out about their books, and you’ve been especially kind to me. Thank you!

So, I’m a YA author with a now complete (hooray!) series of dystopian/post-apocalyptic books. The Brilliant Darkness series begins with The Scourge, a 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Award Finalist, and includes The Defiance and the just-released The Fire Sisters. There are also two novellas in the series. The series features a blind girl who believes she’s mysteriously protected from flesh-eating creatures called the Scourge, but she hasn’t been tested—until now.

I’m also a psychologist, which makes my workweek an interesting mix of fantasy and heart-wrenching reality.

2. I know it is good to hear an encouraging word now and then to know how much the readers love your books and to keep you going. So what is your favorite comment from a fan that really lifted your spirits?

I LOVE my readers, and I have such nice ones. They are incredibly supportive. One comment that has always stuck in my brain came very early after I first published The Scourge in January 2012. I was not planning to self-publish, but at the time I couldn’t interest an agent in my writing. I thought no one would buy or read my book.

A woman, an early reader, said she was so engrossed in The Scourge that she read while trying to do her housework, and while changing her baby’s diaper. I was thrilled that the initial response was that the book was hard to put down. I see that as a primary goal for an author: to make you lose sleep, because you can’t stop reading : ) Consider that fair warning! You can see her actual comment here, third one down on the left:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Scourge-ebook/dp/B0073O59OI

3. I don’t want to give away any details in Fire Sisters to spoil the series for everyone else, so I will just focus on the series as a whole. I just love your Brilliant Darkness series! How did you come up with such a great idea for a story?

Thank you so much! I initially came up with the idea of people trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world full of swamps. I figured they’d move up into the trees. But, what if half the people moved up and wouldn’t share with the other half? That’s how the two main groups in The Scourge, the Lofties and Groundlings, were born. (The swamp idea kind of fell away, although water is very important to the story.)

Then, I thought, what if the main character, a Groundling, was blind? And THEN, I thought, and what if there were zombie-like creatures that only she was protected from, due to her blindness??? And that was it. Fennel and the Scourge were born.

4. I find the concept of the Lofties (tree dwellers) and Groudlings (Ground dwellers) so fascinating. Then there is the dreaded Scourge. Can you tell us a little about each of them?

Lofties are all fair-haired and fair-skinned. Groundlings are dark. Once a year, the two groups meet for the Exchange, when they trade their infants based on their coloring. It’s a terrible time for both groups, but they’ve been locked in this tradition for generations. The Lofties hold the safety and security of the trees and treetops, while the Groundlings control the community’s only water supply. So they have a tense, mistrustful relationship, as you might imagine. The Groundlings are particularly bitter, because they have to hide in cold, dark caves for days when the Scourge come, because the Lofties won’t share their trees.

The Scourge are vicious flesh-eating creatures that chase down and devour, or turn, any humans they come across—except the Sightless, like Fennel. I should say here that if you don’t like blood and gore, don’t be afraid of The Scourge. Most people who say they aren’t zombie fans, and are easily grossed out or afraid, don’t find my series to be objectionable at all. It’s really fantasy romance : )

5. Your characters have a ways of getting themselves into so many bad situations and some causes problems for those around them. Which character(s) gave you the most problems when trying to write their story?

Hmm, I’m not sure any of them gave me problems. I LOVE creating characters. They usually just jump into my head fully formed!

6. I love so many of the characters in The Brilliant Darkness series so I can’t pick just one. Who was your favorite character to write?

I’m attached to my two mains, Fennel and Peree. It was so fun to build their relationship from scratch. But the most fun to write was Moray. He’s a bad guy, really, but he has heroic, good guy moments. I really tried hard to write him so that you couldn’t classify him, so he wouldn’t be black and white. I hope I succeeded right through The Fire Sisters.

7. I know right now the series consist of 3 full length novels and 2 novellas. So is this it or do you feel there will be a spin-off or prequel in the future?

Hmm, this is it for NOW. Funny you should mention a spin-off, though. I did try to leave the ending somewhat open for a few characters, and there are many more questions about the world of the Scourge…

8. What are you working on now? Has a new story started to bring itself to life?

Thanks for asking! I’m writing a YA time travel short story right now for an indie anthology that will release in March. I met a group of women writers here in Denver who all write YA and are mostly indies. We have done a few writing retreats together, and at the last one someone said, “Why don’t we publish a short story anthology?” So, Tick Tock: Seven Tales of Time came to be! It’s so much fun to write a new character in a new world. I could totally see this leading to its own series down the road…

I’m also revising a novel I wrote last year that is YA speculative fiction. It will be a duology, if all goes as planned.

9. There is one question we like to ask all of our authors. Is there any advice you would like to give to the aspiring authors out there?

Read a lot. Write a lot. Honestly, that’s what being an author boils down to. I read, write, and create all day, and it’s a privilege to get paid to do it!

10. We would like to thank you for joining us today A.G. Henley you are amazing! Now I would like to give you the last word. Is there anything else you would like to tell us about your books or yourself that I did not ask about? Or is there something you would like to say to all the readers out there?

Thank you so much for reading and supporting the work of authors and bloggers! I can create books and worlds, but that’s only half the equation of reading. Readers provide their own lens and interpretation to what I write, and they bring richness to the experience of writing that would otherwise be very solitary. We’re a team – and I appreciate my other half!

Thank you again for having me on the blog! It was a lot of fun.

Interview questions created by Candy Cassin with Otherworldy Book Adventure. Used with permission.

http://otherworldlybookadventure.blogspot.com/

AUTHOR BIO:

A.G. Henley is the author of the BRILLIANT DARKNESS series. The first novel in the series, THE SCOURGE, was a finalist for the 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Award.

A.G. is also a clinical psychologist, which means people either tell her their life stories on airplanes, or avoid her at parties when they've had too much to drink. Neither of which she minds. When she's not writing fiction or shrinking heads, she can be found herding her children and their scruffy dog, Guapo, to various activities while trying to remember whatever she's inevitably forgotten to tell her husband. She lives in Denver, Colorado.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Synopsis:
There’s a meteor headed for Earth, and there is only one way to survive.

With her criminal record, sixteen-year-old Char is never going to get a place on an Ark, one of the five massive bioships designed to protect Earth’s survivors. The Arks are reserved for the real goody-goodies, like Char’s mom, dad, and brother, all of whom have long since turned their backs on her.

With Earth on the brink of destruction, Char must use all her tricks of the trade to swindle her way into outer space, where she hopes to reunite with her family, regardless of whether they want to see her or not.

Once she arrives on the North American Ark, Char discovers that the remnants of humanity haven’t achieved the egalitarian utopia they’d planned for. For starters, the “Officers of the Peace” are anything but peaceful, especially since stealing a spot on an Ark is a crime punishable by death…

Arthur Dent. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. This one’s on the list because I know exactly how he feels. Also, this book is fantastic. Sci fi comedy for the win.

2. "My days of not taking you seriously are certainly coming to a middle."

Malcolm Reynolds. Figured I’d put it out there right at the beginning: I’m cheating. This is a television show, not a book, and it was written by Joss Whedon. Firefly. Go forth and view happily.

3. "You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back."

Vincent Freeman (Gattaca) There I go again, cheating. Although this one’s a movie. It’s as good as science fiction ever got.

4. “All girls your age are witches.”

Finn in Thorn Jack by Katherine Harbour. This scene in particular shows the power of being young and innocent.

5. "We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?" (Fahrenheit 451)

6. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

Sonnet XVII, by Pablo Neruda. This one might not be a real book either, since it’s a poem. But it’s one of the best quotes I’ve ever read about a love that perseveres in spite of brokenness.

7. "Science is magic that works."

Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle. This comes up more often than you might think, when you’re writing sci-fi.

8. Wash: "Psychic, though? That sounds like something out of science fiction."

Zoe: "We live in a spaceship, dear."

Firefly again! I love the self-awareness of this quote, as well as how it subtly develops the relationship between Zoe and her husband Wash. She might be my favorite female sci-fi character ever.

9. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

George Orwell, 1984. This is the greatest opening line of all time, and one of the best sci-fi quotes ever. The reader doesn’t know how wrong everything is yet, but something’s definitely off.

10. “You mean old books?"

"Stories written before space travel but about space travel."

"How could there have been stories about space travel before --"

"The writers," Pris said, "made it up.”

Phillip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Besides coming from one of the finest and most celebrated pieces of sci-fi ever written, this quote is meaningful to me because I write and read sci-fi, and my book is about space travel.

AUTHOR BIO:

Laura grew up in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where she spent an excellent childhood playing make-believe with her two younger brothers. The Ark is the direct result of those stories and a lifelong devotion to space-themed television. It received a Work in Progress Grant from the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Laura has a degree in French and a license to practice law, but both are frozen in carbonite at present. She lives in Texas with her family.